


The Customer Is Always Asking For It

by paperwishes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Lance are Siblings, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Breakfast, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Get with the program, Guess we'll see, Human Allura (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, I definitely want matt to show up later, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Fluff, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, POV Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Shiro catches more than you think, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Waiter Lance, and it's a university, cause why not, come on lance, is not a thing, space syrup, syrup fight, the universe is out to get Lance, they both go to Garrison, we know you love space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwishes/pseuds/paperwishes
Summary: “Pidge. Please, you have to serve this guy,” he found himself begging them.“Why?”“Because he’s my last one and after the shitty day I’ve had, I’m not sure if I can talk to him again without murdering him. Slowly. Violently. There will be bloody butter knives involved. Someone will be missing an eye. And that someone won’t be me.”“First of all, you have a problem, because that was disturbingly detailed and I did not need to know any of that." They sighed, and hung up their apron. “Second, my shift’s over, and I have a sense of self preservation. You’ll both survive. Probably.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Got the idea for this one from reading a friend's screenplay. Since it was a WIP, it ended midsentence, with something about a waiter being particularly rude and a character wanting to pour syrup on... Well, the table apparently. But for some reason my brain immediately thought NO THE SYRUP WAS CLEARLY POURED ON THE WAITER'S HEAD. No, I have no idea why this seemed a logical conclusion to me at the time. But then I thought that that seemed like a very klance thing to do... and so this happened.

If one more obnoxious diner said something stupid to him, Lance was going to stab them in the eye with a fork. Or break a plate over their head. Or something less lethal but equally satisfying, because he didn’t want to actually kill someone. He just wanted to do something, _anything_ , to make him feel like he had some control over his life.

But he also really needed this job. And ‘the customer is always asking it’ was considerably less socially acceptable concept than the typical ‘the customer is always right’ philosophy.

Also, if he killed a customer, Allura would kill him.

So, when some guy with a mullet stormed in, dripping with rain and fury, Lance resolved to be a nice, reasonable human being. Like Hunk.

“Table,” the guy practically growled.

But the universe must have thought it was funny to try his (admittedly questionable) patience. If the universe even gave a shit.

Lance forced himself to give Mullet a banal smile, snatched a menu and led him to a small table in the corner. “Here you go. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

Mullet just glared at the table hard enough that Lance was almost surprised it didn’t catch fire.

His shift was nearly done. His shift was almost done. He could leave soon, just one last asshole of a customer, and then he could go. Lance turned away and prayed to the diner gods that a guy with the mullet wouldn’t be the death of him.

Because, come on. He’d much rather die in a blaze-of-glory style. Or with some semblance of dignity. At this point, even his standards for an untimely death were embarrassingly low.

It really, really didn’t help matters that the other customers had been a mess. They hadn’t been too busy, but the few people who did come were nightmares. One was a harried-looking father was staring at his phone while his four kids made a mess of their food. Normally he loved kids, but they could be the most disgusting eaters, and these were some of the worst he’d ever seen. In the back, four tables had been pushed together to accommodate a particularly rowdy group of high school students, of which there were twelve and counting, because every five minutes another teenager joined the pack. From what he gathered, it was someone’s birthday, which meant he had to sing the stupid chain restaurant birthday song.

And, _dios mío_ , did he hate that disgustingly cheesy song. Normally, he’d be all for cheese, but when it was something cheesy that he had been forced to repeat quite this many times… let’s just say his tolerance level for cheese became a hell of a lot lower.

Most of the other customers had been the usual assholes, a good number of which were complaining about the quality of the food and asking to get replacements just to be annoying. Which was such complete _bullshit_. Their food was cooked by Hunk, who was literally the best chef that Lance had encountered, a fact that Galra food chain exploited like crazy. The diners were either finger clickers (he preferred to be treated like an actual human being, thanks), or people who didn’t understand that cheesecake or buttermilk pancakes had dairy in them (they couldn’t possibly actually be lactose intolerant, or they would have died ages ago), or were just garden variety idiots (less interesting than the laughable idiots, but more annoying in high numbers).

For some reason, the idiots had come in far greater numbers than usual, enough that Lance almost wondered if there was some sort of Convention For Unconventional Idiocy going on. At this point, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

By the time Mullet waved him over, he was relieved to find that the customer’s apparent temper wasn’t making him too much of an asshole. Or maybe it wouldn’t have, if Lance hadn’t been so angry himself.

Lance was pissed off enough that instead of asking the guy what he wanted to order nicely, he spoke with enough ice in his voice to compete with a blizzard. “What do you want.”

And Mullet’s temper came right back. Lance could actually see it happen, and, to be honest, it just made Lance angrier. Because _who the fuck_ manages to look good and like a decent human being while wanting to tear the world apart. That should not be a thing.  “Pancakes.”

_Dios mío_ , Lance had never heard such a mundane breakfast ordered with quite that much aggression. Which, considering the general horror of a job at Galra, was really saying something.

“Would you like anything to drink with that.”

“Water.” It sounded more like a curse word than a necessity for human life.

“Anything else.”                                                    

“No.”

“Great.”

***

“Pidge. Please, you have to serve this guy,” he found himself begging them.

“Why?”

“Because he’s my last one and after the shitty day I’ve had, I’m not sure if I can talk to him again without murdering him. Slowly. Violently. There will be bloody butter knives involved. Someone will be missing an eye. And that someone won’t be me.”

“First of all, you have a problem, because that was disturbingly detailed and I did not need to know any of that.” They sighed, and hung up their apron. “Second, my shift’s over, and I have a sense of self preservation. You’ll both survive. Probably.”

“Please.”

“No, Lance. I have a big paper due in the morning and still have to write over half of it.”

Lance groaned. “But you always finish your assignments early!”

“Yeah, well not this time,” said Pidge, already heading out the door.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been working on an extra credit robotics project with Hunk. But that doesn’t matter right now.” They smiled wearily. “Hunk’s bored as I am, and a good murder could provide him some entertainment. I wouldn’t want to deprive him of it.”

“Asshole.”

“Well, at least you kept your insult gender neutral this time.”

“Good luck on your paper,” he said grudgingly, and watched the door swing closed with a bang that was probably satisfying to Pidge but hell to him.

***

When Lance came back around to refill Mullet’s water, he found himself glaring absentmindedly at his clenched jaw. The guy may have been an asshole, but, damn, he was a really good looking asshole.

… Okay, that sounded a little strange, even in his own head, but whatever. He’d take a good pun wherever he could get it.

Which was why it took him a few seconds to notice that he’d managed to pour half the ice water into Mullet’s lap.

Shit.

Now the glare was turned towards him, and, wow, okay, this guy was ridiculously attractive, how the actual _fuck_ was--

Mullet snatched the pitcher of syrup that Lance had set down on the table, and sloshed its contents on Lance’s face. He was lucky enough to close his eyes in time to keep from any of it from actually getting into them.

Syrup dripped from his chin.

When Lance opened his eyes, he leveled his most murderous glare at Mullet. Then he dumped the last half of ice water directly over Mullet’s stupid hair.

Mullet stared at him.

And stared.

This went on for at least a solid five minutes. Or, at least, it felt that way.

Lance’s anger slowly drained away, leaving only exhaustion and an echo of embarrassment in its place. He was about to open his mouth to say something, probably not an apology, but something to defuse the situation, when Mullet finally reacted.

It started out as a surprised snort, and quickly devolved into full on, stomach-aching, shoulder-shaking, bright-eyed laughter.

Lance honestly had no idea how to react to that. So he just stared, completely taken aback and way too tired to process what the hell had just happened. At this point, all he knew was that, damn, he’d thought this guy was crazy gorgeous when pissed off, but he was absolutely fucking beautiful when he laughed. Even with his hair plastered to his head with water and an ice cube falling off of his head.

It was kind of a weird thing to think about someone who just threw syrup in your face, but Lance had grown pretty comfortable with the fact that he would get attracted to the most unlikely people at the most unlikely times. But, _dios_ , was it really necessary for him to meet pretty much everyone he’d ever been interested in at the worst possible ways?

The guy’s laughter faded away to occasional muffled snorts, which was way too cute.

Oh, the universe was definitely laughing at Lance. He was sure of it.

Mullet shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really needed that.”

Lance raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You needed for me to dump a whole pitcher of ice water on you. Or you needed to splash syrup in my face. Or both?”

Mullet rolled his eyes. “No, idiot. A reason to laugh,” he said, like it should have been obvious. With that, he tucked a few bills in his hand, and left.

When Lance stopped staring after him for long enough to look down, he found that the guy had given him a really good tip. He put the bills in his apron pocket, and startled at the dripping of syrup down his neck and under his shirt. Lance shook his head and went back into the kitchen, only vaguely aware of the restaurant full of gaping patrons.

***

Hunk stared at him.

Lance was still covered in syrup, and he was wiping it off with his hand and little success when he froze and groaned.

“Um. Buddy. You alright?” asked Hunk.

Lance nodded, and walked over to the sink to wash off as much of the syrup as he could.

“Cause you just came into the kitchen covered in syrup and not remotely angry, so. I’m a little worried that you might have… lost your mind sometime in the last five minutes.”

“Hunk. I’m fine.”

“Really.” said a skeptical Hunk.

_“Yes_ , I really. It’s just that. Damn it. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Lance, you’re really doing a terrible job of convincing me here. I need to know that you’re okay and the syrup aliens haven’t come to get you.”

Lance was too busy ranting to respond. “I can’t believe I didn’t get his number.”

Hunk sighed. And, oh, Lance knew that sound. That was the patented so-Lance-thinks-he-fell-in-love-again sigh. “Didn’t get whose number?”

He turned back towards Hunk and threw up his arms. “The number of the cute guy who threw syrup in my face!” Lance resumed pacing.

Hunk frowned, and went back to cleaning up the kitchen. “That would probably be because no one ever thinks to ask for the number of someone who throws syrup in their face. Or have someone throw syrup in their face, period,” he said slowly, like it should have been obvious.

Lance whirled around and whisper-shouted, “Don’t use your _logic_ on me! He was cute and he poured syrup on my head and I poured water on his head and then he laughed and, yes, okay, I still found him attractive! We’ve already established that I’m weird. Don’t rub it in; that’s just cruel.”

Hunk shrugged, going back to his cleaning. This loudness, this ridiculousness that Lance full well knew he had, was something he was more used to. He knew Lance well enough to know that acting this way meant he was back to his normal self.

Lance kept on ranting until even he wasn’t listening to himself anymore, and continued in his head and under his breath on his way home.

He was covered in syrup, his shirt was still sticking to his skin, but he was smiling slightly when he finally got all the syrup off of himself and went to sleep, thinking of how surprised Mullet guy’s laughter had been.

Lance was so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance finds Keith, but not quite the way he expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I normally try and update earlier in the day, just to keep it consistent, but I procrastinated this one until pretty late, so I was writing and editing it until... now. *sheepish grin* 
> 
> There's going to be maybe one or two more chapters for this story, so, barring procrastination or the apocalypse, the next one should go up next Monday!

It wasn’t until he went to do the laundry that Lance finally faced the dried-syrup covered mess that had been the clothes he’d worn when he’d met the mulleted customer. He groaned, hating his past self for not having dealt with it the moment he’d gotten home. For a moment, he debated throwing the whole disaster in the trash. But he was studying at the Garrison, and that shit costs money, so he really couldn’t afford to replace anything right now. Plus, it was his work uniform, and Allura would kill him if he had to get a new one. Mostly because the Galra would be on her ass about it, but still.

He was really, really tempted to just toss it in the washer at the dorm laundry room and hope for the best, but that probably wasn’t going to cut it.

One quick Google search later, Lance was sitting on the kitchen floor, scraping dried syrup off of the front of the stupid blue polyester uniform shirt and apron with a butter knife. He even had to do the waistband of the pants he’d been wearing, because of course it had dripped all the way down there.

It wasn’t until he’d scraped off as much as physically possible and was about to put everything in the one of the dorm washing machines that he checked the apron pocket… and realized that he’d accidentally pocketed the money that Mullet had given him.

Oh, for the love of fucking god.

Still kneeling in front of the washer, Lance rested his forehead against it and groaned.

Why. Just why. Why did this always have to happen. Why was it never something good, something that wouldn’t make his life exponentially worse.

But maybe the universe was finally taking pity on him, because he found a scrap of napkin tucked inside the bills. With Mullet’s number and name on it.

Well. Presumably.

All he could make out was that, at some point, ink had been scrawled messily over part of it in a form that resembled a name and number, but was smeared beyond recognition due to an ungodly mix of syrup, water, and soap.

Lance shoved his uniform in the washer, slammed the door shut, and sat back on his heels, giving the slowly turning clothes and soap mixture a death glare. Or, at least, it would have been deadly if aimed at an actual human being. But whatever.

He took a deep breath before examining the napkin, hoping to decipher at least some of it. Was that… an eight? Or Maybe a nine? Lance was mostly sure that the name started with a K, but it may have been and H. Or an X. Or…

Without looking over, he addressed the guy next to him, who was just pulling a load out of the wash. “Hey, can you read this number? Or is it even a number? God damn, it’s so messed up that I can’t even tell.”

The guy said nothing, but not in a I-don’t-give-a-shit way, more in an oh-shit tensing with a side of silence and unnatural stillness.

That was when Lance began to hear some very familiar laughter.

Wait. That couldn’t be. There was just no fucking way… he whipped his head around so fast that his neck popped.

The guy was a college student, just as worse for wear as Lance was, with his hair up in a sloppy ponytail and shadows under his eyes. And Lance still found him just as gorgeous as he did after the mulleted bastard dumped syrup in his face and fucking laughed.

How. Did this guy make a fucking _ponytail_ , of all things, look hot. And those dimples. _Dios mío_ , those dimples would be the death of him.

Lance found himself laughing too, out of sheer disbelief. And the rest of the students in the Laundromat might have looked at them strangely, if it wasn’t super early in the morning, and if they weren’t all dressed in a weird mix of pajamas and mismatched clothes, and way too tired to give a shit.

“No. No, wait, I was supposed to call you. What the fuck, dude, way to steal my romantic moment. I was going to figure out most of the digits except like, one or two, and spend a night calling up all the possible combinations. It was going to be cute and amazing, and you would have been so happy that I found you and—“

Mullet snorted. “Oh, really?”

“ _Yes!_ _And you ruined my bonding moment!”_

“Judging by the fact that that number wasn’t a number and wasn’t meant for you, your ‘bonding moment’ was already ruined. Honestly, it’d probably be better if I just forgot all about it.”

Lance let out a gasp of mock horror. His heart was going way faster than usual, which was so unfair. “How _dare_ you!”

Mullet rolled his eyes, and started to walk away to the dryer, wet clothes in hand. Lance stopped him by grabbing his wrist without even thinking about it. The guy looked over his shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. “You alright there?”

“Don’t leave! I was in the middle of a perfectly good rant!”

The eyebrow inched higher. “… I was just going to put my clothes in the dryer?”

Lance’s cheeks burned. “Oh. Right. Yeah. That… that would make sense.” He turned around and hopped up so he was sitting on top of the washer.

Mullet came right back afterwards, and stood awkwardly in front of him with his arms crossed. And he had no right to look that cute doing it, since was probably a heathen who used a bar of soap instead of shampoo and conditioner. Him and his stupid hot ponytail mullet.

Wait.

Lance had prepared for this. He had practiced and mastered the art of the pick-up line, and his time had come.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Hey, do you have a name or can I call you mine?”

Mullet stared at him.

Lance smiled, and hoped the sudden nervousness he felt didn't show up in the expression.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “My name’s Keith. And if you’re going to try pick-up lines on me, you’re going to have to up your game.”

Well, that was a first.

Lance grinned slowly. “Oh, you’re on, _Keith_. You’ve challenged the Great Lance McClain, and you are going down.”

***

Keith ended up staying with him until both their clothes were done, and Lance raced him back to Keith’s dorm floor.

When he looked back at Lance, holding his laundry basket at his hip with his cheeks flushed and he fucking smiled, Lance almost tripped over his own feet. Keith’s smile widened into a smirk, and he said, “You alright there?”

“Yep. Yes. Fine. Fantastic. Absolutely fucking fabulous.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want you knocking yourself out before admitting that I won that race by a solid five seconds.”

“Okay, that’s it. We’re rivals now,” said Lance.

Keith stared at him. “Or we could just exchange numbers and meet up later?”

Lance swallowed. “Or… yeah. Or that. Let’s go with that.”

“Great.” He smiled at Lance, and Lance cursed whatever had led to this boy being so unfairly attractive. “Friends?”

Wait.

What?

Lance forced himself to smile, and said, “Yep. Friends.”

They exchanged numbers.

“Night,” said Keith.

The door closed quietly, and Lance walked back to his dorm without paying much attention, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

***

“—And he asked if we were friends! Like he hadn’t even noticed that I’d been flirting with him!” Lance ranted during breakfast.

Pidge sighed without even looking up from their computer. “I’m honestly not even sure how you always manage to go after guys who are in the closet. It’s almost a talent.”

“Yes, thank you for your unending support, Pidgeling,” retorted Lance.

“Pidgeling?” they asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sleep deprived, okay? My nicknaming game is not up to its normal standards.”

“Whatever.” They paused in their typing and looked over, considering him. “Please tell me you’re not going to call him back.”

Lance winced. “I… might be considering it.”

Pidge put their computer to the side and glared at him across the kitchen table. “Lance. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It isn’t healthy, and you deserve someone who can at least admit that they like you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. It’s just… I just… Keith’s different, okay? He wouldn’t do that, and—“

“You barely even know him.”

“—and I’m only planning on being friends with him anyway,” Lance said adamantly.

Pidge took of their glasses and rubbed one of their closed eyes with the heel of their palm. “Look, I know you’re impossible to argue with when you get like this, but could you at least promise me to be careful?”

Lance opened his mouth to retort before reconsidering when he noticed just how tired Pidge looked right then. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

***

A day or two later, he was talking to Keith while sitting in one of the landings of the dorm stairways. They were both doing homework, until Lance paused and tucked his pencil behind his ear. “For the record, I blame you for this.”

“For what?” Keith asked absentmindedly, leafing through one of his textbooks.

“For being so distracting in at the Galra diner that I forgot to put the money you gave me for your meal in the cash register.”

He looked up at Lance. “Wait, you did what?”

Lance looked away, choosing to stare at the door to the third floor instead, and said, “You heard me.”

Keith blinked. “I mean, yes, I did. But how is it my fault?”

“You—you were being—you know!”

“No, Lance, I really don’t.”

“Well, it’s not like it matters now anyway. But now I’m stuck with accidentally stolen money and I have no idea how to return it, so Allura’s going to find out and she’s going to be _pissed_ , and I’m not even sure—“

“I could help out,” offered Keith.

“—how I’m going to survive if she does her whole scary-warrior-princess thing and—“

“Lance.”

“—what if her boyfriend’s the one who catches me? He’s hot and sweet and I honestly don’t even know how to defend against that—“

“LANCE,” said Keith, slamming his textbook shut.

Lance paused. “What?”

“I could help.”

Lance stared for long enough that Keith began to fidget and blushed. He had to repeat to himself inside his head that _you can’t kiss him, he’s not out yet; you can’t kiss him, he’s not out yet_ … Then he processed what Keith had said.

“Actually, that could work…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. So, I did, in fact, finish my usual chapter of klance fanfic for the week. Just. On the wrong story, because I had a plot bunny that was driving me crazy. I realize that I could have posted that chapter instead, but... idk. I don't want to get distracted and end up not finishing this one, because this fic's been so much fun to write. And I had a plan for where I wanted to go with this chapter, but for some reason it just wasn't working for me. I only figured out where it needed to go today. So I ended up writing this today. I literally finished this now. But I hate messing with a writing schedule, so I'm posting it. Just wanted to warn that it might be a bit messy because I didn't get to do more than a cursory edit.
> 
> So this one's a bit late and probably a bit messy. Sorry about that.

It was, all things considered, a perfectly decent, simple plan. Lance would grab the keys before he left work the day before, then they would sneak in, replace the money, and sneak out.

So Lance really should have seen disaster coming. Because, for better or worse, nothing Lance ever did was simple. Or went smoothly. He would be the first to admit that his life was about as smooth as sandpaper, but, hey, you learn by trying, right?

Keith was admittedly not necessary to said plan. But Lance needed a look out and an excuse to go on a date with the guy. Specifically, a date that no in their right mind (besides Lance) would actually consider a date.

Sneaking into his workplace at dawn to unsteal money?

Sounded like the perfect date to him.

They’d met by pouring syrup and water in each other’s faces; nothing in this relationship was shaping up to be even remotely normal.

So of course the day they snuck in ended up being the one day that one of his coworkers—probably Sendak, that lazy asshole always shows up at the worst times—apparently decided to come in and help out early. And of course Lance was just casually putting the money in the register and humming to himself, with no idea that Probably-Sendak was coming around the corner when Keith comes sprinting in, and fucking _vaults_ over the countertop.

Lance barely had a moment to think, _what the hell, does he think he looks cool doing that or something? I mean, he does, but he shouldn’t know that,_ let out an undignified but quiet screech, and open his mouth to say something about it when Keith yanks him down and shushes him.

Lance glared. “I will _not_ be _shushed_ , thank you very much! How would you like it if—“

“Lance!” Keith hissed. “Shut up, someone’s coming.”

“Dude. You literally had one job: to keep lookout and let me know so we could leave with our heads intact!” he whisper-shouted.

“Yeah, well, some genius thought it would be a great idea to put me out of earshot and in place where my only option is to dive inside the diner and hide with you behind the counter!”

“Did you at least see who it was?”

“No, just that they were carrying the uniform, had keys, and were headed this way,” said Keith.

“Did they see you come in?”

“I don’t think so.”

Lance was busy trying to figure out a way to look over the counter without being seen, so he almost missed it when Keith snickered. The moment he realized what he’d heard, he whipped his head around and stared at Keith.

Keith had a hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep the sound from escaping, because he was full on shaking with laughter.

Lance was going to die. Lance was going to die a slow, happy death of because he encountered a boy too attractive for his own damn good who could laugh and make Lance realize exactly how amazingly ridiculous their situation was.

When Keith finally pulled it together—silently, which was a miracle in itself—he took a deep breath and said, “Okay. I’m going to head out there and distract whoever came in, and you can sneak out the back.”

Lance blinked. “You’re going to do _what_?”

“You’re the one who works here, and I’m not. You could get fired, but they can hardly fire me.”

“No, but, dude, then they might call what you’re doing breaking and entering. I’m not going to let you do that.”

Keith shook his head and said, “Too late. Go.”

And with that he popped up from behind the counter, vaulting back over.

What a dork.

Lance loved it. _Dios_ , he was so screwed.

Then he realized what the hell Keith had done. And no way. There was no way hell Lance was going to let him do this. So he stood up and rushed out, ready to get help Keith get away and saw—

“Pidge?!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

Pidge was indeed standing in the middle of the diner, hair ruffled like they’d just come out of bed, and giving him what was quite possibly the most unimpressed look Lance had ever gotten in his life. Keith was just awkwardly standing there, looking almost as embarrassed as Lance felt.

He was still stuck on why it was Pidge standing in front of him and not Sendak like he’d been expecting.

They took a calm sip from their coffee and said, “Hey.”

“ _What are you doing here?_ ”

“Saving your reckless ass,” they said, readjusting the uniform they had tucked under their arm.

“What—but—and how?!”

Pidge finally cracked a grin, looking way too amused by the whole situation. “Man, this is even better than I expected.”

“Pidge, how did you even know what to expect?”

 “Hunk told me that you were doing something stupid and convinced me to come check on you.”

“And how did Hunk know?”

“He read the text messages that you sent your boyfriend over there.”

“Hunk wouldn’t…”Lance began weakly.

“Lance,” they said, looking at him with exasperation. “We’re talking about the guy who recreationally reads my diary. He’s sweet, yeah, but he’s also a complete snoop. Would you really put this past him?”

“Normally I’d want to protect Hunk’s honor, but….you do have a point.”

Keith finally joined them in the center of the diner. He still looked incredibly awkward, and Lance was exasperated, because how does this guy managed to make that look cute and not just… uncomfortable? He might be growing to love it about Keith, though. Or it could be because of Lance’s massive crush on him. Bit of a toss-up, really. “You guys going to fill me in?”

“Right!” said Lance. “Pidge this is Keith. Keith, this is Pidge. Keith uses he/him pronouns, and Pidge uses they/them.”

Keith started to say something before shaking his head and tentatively holding out a hand to shake. “Um. Hello?”

Pidge looked down at their full hands, and glanced back up at Keith, who was still holding out his hand. They set their coffee down carefully on a nearby table and shook his hand.

Lance turned to Keith, frowning. “You alright?”

He had a weird twist to his mouth, like he wanted to smile but was trying not to.

Lance felt his heart stop for a second.

Keith cleared his throat. “This is just kind of a weird situation for me.”

To his surprise, Pidge laughed, the sound a softer and more sympathetic than he’d heard them use with a stranger before. “I’m pretty sure this is a weird situation for everyone involved. But it is nice to see you again.”

“What?” Lance dropped his head in his hands. “I’m afraid to even ask how you two know each other.”

When he looked up, Pidge was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and Keith was smiling. They exchanged glances before Pidge answered. “Childhood friends, actually. And I have to say, I was not expecting Lance’s Guy With A Mullet to be you.”

Keith snorted. “Of course he told you the story.”

“Wait,” said Lance. “Pidge. Are you—are you going to tell Allura? Because if you are, I completely understand, and I just felt terrible and didn’t want to tell her about how I accidentally pocketed the money because I knew she’d be disappointed and—“

Pidge interrupted, “Lance. It’s fine. I don’t care, and I know how distracted you get when you start to fall for someone. Just chill and put the money back.”

“Oh,” said Lance. “Thanks, Pidge.”

They started to leave, but stopped at the door to ask, “What were you planning on doing anyway?”

Lance frowned. “When?”

“When you both came out from behind the counter.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Attack or run, I guess?”

Pidge stared at him. “Seriously? That was your plan? You could have done literally anything else, and it would have been better. You could have pretended you were making out with Keith. Or that you were planning on taking him on a date here. Or said you’d come early to clean up and brought Keith as help.”

Lance grinned sheepishly. “I was a little distracted?”

They rolled their eyes. “Of course you were,” Pidge said on their way out. “See you back at the dorm,” they told Keith.

“Of course you two live together. Because what would my life be without irony.” Lance muttered, glaring to the side at the floor.

He looked up and found Keith less than a foot away, and flinched, startled.

Keith was staring at him and smiling slightly. “Well. Nice to know that we overcomplicated everything,” His smile widened. “It was fun, though.”

Lance and this time Lance couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “So… I guess you heard the stuff about me starting to fall for someone?”

“Yes…?”

“And I just.” Lance shut his eyes tightly and said, “ReallylikeyouandwantedtoaskifIcantakeyououtonadate?”

He could hear Keith smirking when he said, “You’re going to have to repeat that one slower than the speed of light.”

“Ha, ha. I don’t need your sass, Mullet.”

“Lance.”

He took a deep breath. “I really like you and wanted to ask if I can take you out on a date?”

Keith went completely red. “I—but you’re a guy. And I’m a guy? And—“

If it had been pretty much anyone else, Lance would have rolled his eyes, thrown up his hands, and walked away from the matter. But this was Keith, someone who ended fights with a smirk and laugh, and Lance wanted to see where this went. So he resolutely met Keith’s gaze, his own cheeks burning, and quietly said, “It’s homosexuality, not astrophysics.”

Keith stared. Lance was a bit worried that he’d broken him. Some boys were like that—one mention of queerness and they froze up.

“Well, bisexuality, in my case,” said Lance, before hurriedly adding, “Not that I want to assume your sexuality. Or your gender. Or your anything. I just…” He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Just. Kill me now, and kill me quickly. Put me out of my misery.”

Silence.

When Lance got up the courage to peek through his fingers, he found a still-red Keith looking back at him. Only this time, his expression had a distinct softness and sympathy to it along. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Lance swallowed. “You’re not?”

Keith cracked a tiny smile. “Well, that would be illegal. Not to mention inconvenient.”

“Too tired to be hiding bodies today?” Lance couldn’t stop himself from teasing Keith, even through his own mortification.

“Something like that.”

“So. Um. About the date?”

Keith replied so softly that Lance almost didn’t catch it. “Yeah, I’d like that. Long as you’re okay with not calling it a date yet.”

Lance frowned, confused. “But. Is it a date?”

Silence.

“Keith?” he repeated. “Is it a date?”

“Yes,” said Keith. He hesitated, then added, “I’m just… not ready to call it that yet, okay?”

Oh. _Oh._

Lance grinned slowly. “I think I can work with that, Mullet.”


End file.
